


The Other Venice Incident

by GambitsObsession



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Jesse needs to learn how to be a better actor, Moira just needs a drink, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Reyes is offscreen but you can just FEEL how done he is, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 19:52:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14527959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GambitsObsession/pseuds/GambitsObsession
Summary: What happened when Jesse went undercover - and then got fired from being undercover.Rated for bad language.





	The Other Venice Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to [my tumblr](http://gambitsobsession.tumblr.com/), where I may add headcanons at a later date.

“Find out everything you can about Antonio’s movements.”

That had been Reyes’ order. They’d learned (read: threatened and intimidated information out of some Talon grunts who were then promptly shipped off to Morrison and Amari) that he had a regular table at some fancy-schmancy restaurant near the art gallery and that said restaurant _just so happened_ to have a job vacancy.

There _absolutely_ wasn’t some hapless waiter laid up in hospital, mysteriously comatose from an acute loss of energy in every cell of his body…

Which had then begged the question: who goes undercover?

Reyes had claimed that the answer was simple. The ninja was out because a Japanese cyborg in an Italian restaurant was sure to draw some notice – and as much as Moira could probably fluently speak the Venetian dialect _and_ give the perfect wine recommendation for every dish on the menu, those eyes were just unique enough that she’d be slightly too memorable for the team’s comfort.

As for Reyes himself, he unfortunately looked more like he’d plunge a knife directly into someone’s face than use it to shave parmesan table-side.

And _that_ was how Jesse McCree, Blackwatch sharpshooter extraordinaire and former Deadlock Gang member, found himself in the unenviable position of trying to remember that evening’s specials without dropping the frankly-magnificent-if-he-did-say-so-himself accent he was sporting.

He _really_ didn’t want to know which or how many of the owner’s appendages Genji had threatened to get him in here.

In all honesty though, he was supremely lucky that the restaurant in question was a tourist hotspot – no matter how rich said tourists might be – so the fact that he barely spoke the minimum of the language really didn’t matter. Except to Moira, apparently. And his new ‘co-workers’ were the kind of decent, down-to-earth people he wouldn’t have been surprised to see working in the diners along Route 66.

All in all, it felt like home.

Right down to the hardass boss.

“Service!” came the sharp call from the window. “Moroni get these to table three now!”

McCree schooled his rugged features into as pleasant an expression as possible as he ferried yet another gold-leaf-and-truffle-adorned dish to some patron wearing a suit that probably cost more than the entire dropship they’d ridden to the city earlier that week.

“That’s-a _fegaato alla veneeziana_ for-a the _signora,_ ” he drawled, the affected spaghetti-western accent butchering the name of the calf’s liver dish, “And-a the _rissohtto al neero di seeppia._ An excellent-a choice-a, _signor._ ”

No it wasn’t; McCree thought the squid ink risotto looked like something that had crawled of one of Moira’s test tubes.

“Can I-a get-a you any more-a drinks?”

He was waved off by the couple who were practically dripping in valuables and casually made his way back towards the kitchen when his well-honed ear caught wind of-

“And you think that _this_ is a hundred euro bottle of wine?! What sort of pathetic excuse for a waitress are you? I bet you’ve never even _tasted_ a quality meal in your miserable life!”

“Moroni, table six needs service,” the manager, Vitelli, reminded him.

“Mmhmm...” McCree made a non-committal noise, eye on the girl – Sophia, he recalled, who was only around sixteen and working her very first job – as she apologised profusely to the customer. He internally cringed when he realised the woman’s southwestern accent put her squarely in his own backyard.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, you stupid bitch!” Southwestern’s voice rose above the quiet din of the al fresco dining area. “What makes you think you can charge this much for lobster when there’s hardly _any_ of it in this ravioli?! DO. YOU. EVEN. SPEAK. ENGLISH?”

Reyes was going to _kill_ him.

McCree’s legs moved of their own volition as he strode across to where Sophia was discretely wiping away tears and seized the screeching harpy by the front of her dress and pinned her to the wall, lips twisting into a furious snarl.

“Now I may not be from ‘round these parts,” he hissed, all pretence of an accent lost, “But from where I come from, we don’t treat young ladies that way. You head on back to the kitchen, darlin’,” he added over his shoulder to Sophia, “Get yourself a glass of water and take a breath.”

The scuffling of shoes told him she’d done just that as he rounded back on the woman. “Now you listen here, lady,” he growled, “I don’t much care the kinda money your husband makes or what kinda airs you think that gives ya, these folks are just tryin’a make a living and they don’t need your pompous ass bitchin’ about their damn ravioli. And in case ya hadn’t noticed – you’re in _Italy._ You should learn to speak _their_ damn language.”

He shot a look at the woman’s slightly-cowering husband.

“So a-sorry about-a the mess, _signor,_ ” he quipped darkly – before lifting the dish of seafood pasta and pouring it down the woman. “Hmm… Guess there wasn’t much lobster in that after all.”

“MORONI!”

“Guess that’ll be me,” he mused, strolling back to the kitchen without a care in the world as Vitelli bellowed his ‘name’, vein throbbing in the manager’s temple. He’d have tipped his hat if he’d been wearing it.

He really had no idea what all the furious Italian was but McCree figured the gist of it was copious swearing intermingled with the phrase ‘you’re fired’.

Yup. Reyes was going to kill him.

**Author's Note:**

> headcanon from there is that:  
> 
> 
>   * Reyes _did_ want to kill him for about a minute but honestly found the entire situation _hilarious_ and besides they'd managed to get the intel they needed
>   * Genji had some newfound respect for McCree because the cowboy had the honour to defend someone who couldn’t defend themself
>   * Moira was just glad she never had to hear that accent again
> 

> 
> also I would like to point out that when McCree sends Sophia back to the kitchen, it was _not_ in a ‘get back in the kitchen and make me a sammich’ way but actually a ‘take a moment away from the crazies to gather yourself together while I take out the trash’ way


End file.
